


A gentleman, a spy

by franny_star



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franny_star/pseuds/franny_star





	A gentleman, a spy

 

“Hello, darling,” a voice breaks the silence, and Percival fights the urge to throw his earpiece out for a second.

Making a quick right to a seemingly safe alley to hide, he leans back against the wall to reload his TT-30.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” the voice is smooth, unfazed by the gunshots in the background. There is not even a hitch in his breath.

“Did you need something, Lancelot,” he replies, “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

Sensing the footsteps approaching, Percival jumps out of the corner from where he was hiding, and shoots the assassins in one swift motion.

“Can’t one contact just to say hello?” Percival can practically hear the man grin.

“Not on a mission, no,” More footsteps and he’s running again, dodging the bullets and firing back.

“Oh Percy, I love when you get all tense,” Lancelot whispers in his ear, and he misses a shot.

“I would appreciate if you could keep the chatter to a minimal, Lancelot,” Merlin cuts in dryly; regaining control of the comms, “have you not a mission of your own?”

“With all due respect, Merlin, I believe I have just completed it right--” a _bang_ , “--now, and rather successfully, at that.”

“Good work. We’ll pick you up at the rendezvous point,” sighs Merlin, “what’s your status, Percival?”

“I have visual on the target,” Percival leans against the rail and steadies his aim.

Lancelot perks up, “Ah, would you like me to sing while you’re at it?”

He takes the shot.

 

\-----

 

“You should eat your tomatoes, they’re good for you,” says Lancelot, pointing at the offending vegetable with his fork.

“Tomatoes are not good for anything,” Percival mutters quietly, because Arthur would not be impressed if his agents were discussing nutrition while he was addressing the topic for the monthly lunch meeting.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Tomatoes are full of vitamins, I would eat them for you if I were there,” Lancelot sings, tapping lightly on Percival’s sleeve, and there’s a small buzz of static where the images collided.

Percival takes a sideways glance and sees, along with seven other agents, the flat, green image of Lancelot through his glasses. The other man is also wearing his standard-issued glasses, which he once said were not fond of and would not wear unless necessary; though it suited him, with the black rim accentuating his fine features.

“Speaking of, where are you this evening?” asks Lancelot, exposing the line of his throat as he sips his wine.

“Amsterdam,” says Percival, “I heard you are in Madrid.”

“I am. And I was hoping to ask you out to dinner at this restaurant I heard that is supposed to serve delicious _gazpachos_ and _pan con tomates_ ,” the man smirks, in a way that is disturbing or distracting or both.

Percival is saved from making a response when Arthur turns his head towards the two of them in the corner with his brows raised questioningly. He makes a noncommittal motion with his hand for Arthur to proceed, and reaches for his glass.

“It’s nice to know, though,” Lancelot continues, voice low and hushed. “See, Percival, is a well-trained, lethal agent. But this man right here, who hates tomatoes, is you."

Lancelot is now staring at him, peering over his glasses and Percival is _lost_.

There is a sharp _clap!_ and Percival snaps to his attention as Arthur calls out, “The next meeting will be scheduled for the 18th of July. You are dismissed.”

Some of the other agents exchange goodbyes and some just leave without even so much as a _click_ , and next to him Lancelot stands up, straightening his lapels.

“I would love to have that dinner sometime,” he smiles, “See you soon, Percy.”

Percival is trained to endure torture, and even though the man was not in the same room to begin with, he feels dizzy from lack of air.

 

\-----

 

It’s only noon when Percival returns to the headquarters, but he is late.

He is as late as he can be, because Lancelot has been shot during the mission.

At the hospital he finds him perched on the edge of the crisp linen bed, and is greeted with a small smile. Without his ties he looks so bare and vulnerable, and Percival cannot take his eyes off the hollow of his throat.

“I feel that I must apologise,” Percival starts, mouth dry.

“Whatever for?” Lancelot reaches for his cuffs buttons on the side table, putting them back on with a hint of discomfort.

Percival takes a cautious step forward to lend a hand. “I should have been there.”

“I most certainly did miss you,” At that, Percival makes the mistake of making eye contact, and he was quickly running out of reasons not to reach out and touch. “But you were miles away, dear.”

The bandages on his collarbone were wrong in so many ways, Lancelot never got injured, he wouldn’t have, not on his watch, because his eyes will be drawn to the man like a magnet. He would be there to watch his back.

“Tell you what, Percy, if you so desire to make it up to me,” says Lancelot, standing up.

Then they are mere inches away, Lancelot’s elegant hand catching his wrist and another snaking around his waist, and Percival stops breathing.

“I happen to know the perfect way,” Lancelot murmurs against his lips, and they are kissing.

The pace is slow at first, but it turns unbelievably filthy once Percival allows entrance and Lancelot is suddenly _everywhere_.

Mesmerized, Percival moans into the kiss while his hands are sliding across the taller man’s torso, mindful of the injury. When they finally break apart, Lancelot’s eyes are glazed over and Percival suspects his are the same.

“And you call yourself a gentleman?” Percival whispers, because a gentleman did not kiss a man like that.

“There are a lot of things I would like to call myself to you, but yes, I like to think so,” and the stupid grin is back, and Percival falls just a little bit harder. “I am a gentleman and a spy.”

 

The End.


End file.
